


If They Catch Me Ever, They'll Throw Me Back Forever

by Codydarkstalker



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Div, Dothraki, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codydarkstalker/pseuds/Codydarkstalker
Summary: When Sansa's life falls apart on the King's Road, she does the only thing she can. She runs. But across the sea is a world totally unlike her own, unlike anything she's known before, and all she has to protect her is some Lannister gold and the sworn shield of a man she can't even look in the eye.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa flinched as the maid took hold of the strings of her corset and yanked, hard. She took a deep breath and tried to hold it as the steel boned silk tightened around her. It was just one of the many layers to the elaborate outfit she would be wearing to welcome the royal family. It had been a busy morning in the Stark household, at the end of several busy weeks. Maids had spent hours that morning making up baths for the Stark children and wrestling them into their finest clothes in house colors. Even Theon and Jon had been given new black velvet tunics with silver trim, Theon’s sleeves embroidered with the tangled legs of a kraken, and Jon’s with a delicate pattern of snowflakes. 

 

Catelyn looked over her daughter, her lips pursed. “A bit tighter,” She directed the maid, watching as the girl gave another sharp yank, forcing the air out of Sansa’s lungs. “And make sure her braids are perfect.” She reached out and tucked a loose lock of Sansa’s hair behind her ears. “I am off to tend to Arya. She will wear the gown I made her if I have to put milk of the poppy in her rink to do it.” 

 

Sansa gave a weak smile in reply and watched her mother sweep out of the room. It wasn’t often Winterfell received such important guests, and she had been glad to receive a new dress, but that was before her mother had told her she was approaching womanhood, and that meant dressing like one. The corset forced her upright, and she could feel the bonig pressing into the gentle flare of her hips, just beginning to look like a woman’s and not a girls.    

 

“You must be excited my lady,” One of the maids said, moving to help the girl into the first of her layers of under skirts. “You get to meet the King and Queen.”

 

“And the Prince!” Another maid added with an excited giggle, threading a new leather cord into Sansa’s fur lined boot. Embroidered slippers were well and good for indoors but there was already a frost on the ground outside.

 

Sansa gave a tight smile in reply. She was excited to meet the King and Queen, and the rest of the royal family, but their impending visit also had her filled with a strange itching nervousness that made her want to bite at her nails. Her father spoke often of King Robert, of their time together as children mostly, and sometimes of their time during the war. The King hadn’t been as far North as Winterfell since her brother Robb was born, but in her minds eye she could see him clearly, a massive bear like man with dark hair and a booming laugh. He wasn’t the one she was worried about though, it was the Prince, or rather Princes. 

 

She had known since she was a girl that King Robert Baratheon wished to marry one of his children to one of the Starks. He had been denied his own chance at marrying one, her aunt Lyanna, and now sought to connect the houses with his children. But it had yet to be decided which children. 

 

Her thoughts were pushed to the side as a maid pulled her gown over her head, and started on the laces in the back, as another moved forward with a tin of rose balm, smoothing the sweet pink substance on her lips and cheeks. She felt oddly like one of her own dolls, being dressed and tidied, her hair brushed and braided down her back in the Northern fashion. When they were done she was allowed to look in the mirror, and what she saw staring back was the image of the Maiden her mother kept close to her bedside, alongside paintings of the Mother and Crone. Her hair was a perfect coil of copper, and the pink in her cheeks brought out the bright Tully blue of her eyes. Even the somber colors of house Stark could not diminish her beauty, her soft grey velvet gown almost entirely covered with a rich white cloak with white fur.

 

“You look perfect!” The maid carefully gathered the shorter strands of hair that had escaped her braid and slid a silver pin into her hair next to her ear. “As pretty as any royal princess.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth, to thank the maid or argue, she wasn’t sure, but was interrupted by the sound of howling and bells from the courtyard. “They’re here.” 

 

She hurried to don her fur lined cloak and boots and rushed down the stone stairs until she felt the cold air on her cheeks. It was bright outside, almost blinding with the sun bouncing off the fresh snow and sparkling off the frost in the trees. As soon she stepped outside Lady was at her side. Even the wolves had been groomed for the occasion, the kennel master had bathed them and brushed their coats until they shown. 

 

“Can’t have the symbol of Stark House looking a right mess,” He had said, struggling to retrieve the wooden comb Shaggy Dog seemed intent on chewing.

 

Sansa stroked the wolf’s head, and immediately she stopped her whining. The other wolves were pacing before the gates, their feet digging at the packed in snow. When the kennelmaster came out and stilled them she could hear noise outside the gates, the royal procession had arrived. In a flurry of movement half the population of Winterfell seemed to spill out. Sansa guided Lady and stood by her family, taking her place in line beside Robb and Grey Wind. Her brother had been made to shave his attempt at a beard for the occasion and she reached up and poked at the pale smoothness of his cheek. 

 

“Mother made me do it,” He said ruefully. “but still, it could have been worse.” He gestured with his chin. 

 

Sansa turned to see Arya being marched along with Brann and Rickon. She had been put into a new dress, blue with trim in blue and white, and her hair had been combed and braided with blue ribbons. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if she had bit the poor maid forced to do the deed. 

 

Arya saw them staring and opened her mouth to say something, or more likely just swear, but their parents pulled her into line before the gates swung open. It was the formation they fell into for all formal events. The Stark children stood at attention, in height and age order, with Theon and Jon just behind them.

 

Sansa felt the comforting presence of Jon and Ghost behind her as the procession began. Her half brother let out a little gasp as the people began to flood in. First the Kingsguard, lead by a blonde knight on a white horse. He looked not entirely unlike a picture of a knight in a storybook Sansa had liked when she was little, with his handsome face and fluttering white cape. He was followed by a dozen other knights who fell in behind him, and then the horses pulling the royal carriage came. They were big black draft horses, their breath coming out in puffs of steam in the cold air as they towed in the massive carriage. It was decorated lavishly with gold, and bore the symbol of a crowned stag or House Baratheon on the doors. 

 

A number of smallfolk and servants buzzed about, extending the steps out from the carriage, taking the reins of the horses as the knights dismounted. Sansa’s eyes went wide as an even larger horse than the rest came from behind the carriage, being lead by a massive man in armor. The man was one of the largest she had ever seen, but even he seemed to struggle with the beast as it tried to rear up and kick. He settled it with a few pats on the neck and a calm word, but when he turned his head Sansa could see there was something wrong. The side of his face was a mass of scars, like nothing she had ever seen. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned, as though he could feel her eyes on him, and fixed her with a glare colder than any Nothern storm.

 

Sansa flinched back, feeling Jon behind her. But his attention was elsewhere. The King and Queen had descended from the carriage with their children, and the lot of them were headed towards the Starks. She curtsied and lowered her head as they approached, and watched through her eyelashes as her father greeted the king. 

 

“Robert!” Ned took a step forward and raised his hand in greeting. 

 

The king stopped suddenly, raising one massive dark brow. “Robert? Isn’t it King Robert now? Or Your Grace?” 

 

Sansa tilted her chin just enough to see the smile on her father’s face falter, but a moment later the King broke out in a booming laugh and grabbed her father about the shoulders, hauling him into a bone crushing hug.

 

“Ah! I got you Ned! You were always easy to tease!” the king clapped her father on the back so hard he almost fell forward, but it was like a spell was lifted. The Royal family came forward and said their hellos and Sansa lost sight of the scarred man.  


	2. Chapter 2

The royal family was everything that Sansa had expected, and a good bit more besides. Cersei was just as lovely as people had said, but also cold. She had stayed behind as King Robert and Ned descended into the crypts beneath Winterfell, to pay respect to her late aunt. Sansa had caught the brief flash of bitterness come over the woman’s lovely face, but as soon as she realised she was being watched the Queen was all forced smiles and soft words again.

 

They feasted in the great hall that night. Musicians from the local town came and played and the great keep felt full of warmth and light and noise, Winter a distant thought. Sansa did her best to pay attention to the Baratheon’s. Myrcella was a sweet little thing, as was her brother Tommen. They chattered happily about the wonders they had seen going up the King’s Road for the first time, mostly wildlife they never got to see in the capital. 

 

“I saw a wolf!” Tommen proclaimed proudly. “A real big one, like that!” he pointed at the direwolves, which were at the end of the long table, gnawing on bits of bones and gristle that had been tossed at their paws. 

 

“No you didn’t,” Joffrey sneered. “It was less than half as big, Hells it may well have been a fox. Nothing like those monsters.” He gestured with a chicken drumstick at the wolves. 

 

Sansa sniffed in annoyance, trying to maintain her composure. The crown prince was nothing like his father, with his easy laughter and ribald stories. Instead Joffrey took after the Queen, from his blonde hair to his obvious distaste for the North.

 

“Careful boy, those monsters are the sigil of House Stark, and won’t take kindly to being talked about in such a way.”

 

Sansa nearly jumped at the gravelly voice coming from close behind her. She turned in her chair and saw the man from earlier, with the scarred face. Closer up, she could see how bad it was, even in the soft candlelight. Half of his face had been burned, badly, and his long black hair did little to truly distract from it. He had changed from his dusty riding clothes and now wore black breeches and a black leather jerkin over a black tunic. He would have looked a bit like a Brother of the Night’s watch if not for the patch over his heart, a small crowned stag head.  

 

One of the wolves, Shaggy Dog, raised it’s head and stared down the table at them, licking it’s chops. Joffrey stiffened in his seat. “Yes, well good thing you’re here to protect me Hound.” He gestured over Sansa’s shoulder to the massive man. “Lady Sansa, allow me to introduce you to the Lannister’s own dog, one even bigger than your own. Sandor Clegane.”

 

Sansa turned in her eat and held out her hand to be taken. “A pleasure to meet you Ser Clegane.”

 

The man scoffed and ignored her gesture. “I’m no bleeding knight. Ser Clegane is my brother.” He reached past her and took up a goblet of spiced red wine and a leg of turkey, setting on it much like the wolves had, ripping great chunks of meat off the bone with his teeth. 

 

Sansa pulled her hand away blushing furiously at the discourtesy. Joffrey merely laughed. “Dog, you’re upsetting my lady can’t you see. Go and guard me from the other end of the table.” 

 

The man didn’t say anything, just grabbed a jug of wine and moved, skulking off into the shadows of the hall. Sansa watched him go and by the time she had turned around Joffrey had moved on to talking to Theon about the hunting in the North. Sansa took the opportunity to turn her attention to her mother and the Queen, who were seated nearby, quietly talking. 

 

“Your daughter is quite lovely,” Cersei commented, giving Sansa a lingering look. “So tall, and such pretty red hair. It’s quite rare in the South you know, I think Joffrey finds it quite fetching.”

 

Sansa gave a small nod in thanks, unsure what to say before the Queen continued. 

 

“Lady Stark, I wonder, has your daughter flowered yet?”

 

Sansa nearly choked on the cider she was sipping. Her face flushed red and she looked around quickly to see if anyone had overheard. The only person she could see nearby was The Hound, but he seemed busy with a piece of mutton, not even looking up at her. Her lady mother gaped for a moment before managing to recover.

 

“No, Sansa is still a girl, despite her height.” Catelyn forced a smile. “It may be I have a few more years before she leaves me for a husband.” She reached out and took Sansa’s hand, squeezing it gently. 

 

Cersei nodded and glanced over at her own children. “Myrcella has not been promised yet, but for Princesses it can be different. She will be taken from me too soon.” Cersei picked up her goblet and drained it in one long sip, a single drop clinging to the corner of her mouth. “You know Robert wishes to marry our families together.”

 

Catelyn nodded. “My lord husband told me as much. Itrust they will find a suitable match among our children.”

 

Cersei reached out and took ahold of Sansa’s sleeve, looking at the dress. “Did you make this dress girl?”

 

“Yes, I did your grace.”

 

“And the embroidery work? Was that you as well?” Cersei delicately traced the design of winter roses on the sleeve. 

 

“Yes, your grace.”

 

Cersei looked into Sansa’s Tully blue eyes for a moment. “You would have made an excellent bride for my son,” she mused.

 

Sansa held her breath, trying not to allow her emotions to show. Joffery was handsome, that was certain, but not the sort of boy she wished to marry. He was rude and loud and he insulted the wolves.

 

“It’s too bad he has already been promised the Tyrell girl, Margery.” Cersei settled back in her seat and waved the girl away. “But it would be a shame to marry her off to some minor Northern lord with a wooden cottage instead of a castle. Maybe you should consider sending her South, with your husband. She would benefit from time at court, and perhaps find a suitable husband.”

 

Sansa curtsied and backed away before turning and moving to the other side of the table, just out of sight. She knew from years of playing with her siblings there were plenty of nooks and crannies where she could hide herself away and listen in on the conversations. The idea of being sent so far South as the Capital made her heart flutter in her chest. She had never been further than the Riverlands, visiting her mother’s family. But going South with her father would be a real adventure, and give her a chance to be a real lady at court, like the women in her stories. 

 

She pressed herself into a wall, just behind a stack of wine barrels that had been brought up for the feast. It was busy in the hall and no one seemed to have noted her absence from the table. She could just make out her mother’s reply.

 

“My grace, I thank you for the consideration.” Catelyn paused. “I know Sansa would enjoy it in the South but it is hard for a mother to let a child go so far.”

 

Cersei began to respond, bu was cut off by a sudden ruckus down at the end of the high table. A number of people had started shouting and whooping and laughing loudly. Sansa leaned around the barrels to get a look and saw King Robert, red faced with cake crumbs in his beard, had scooped up on of the pretty serving girls and deposited her on his lap. Her father was seated next to the King, and was blushing madly, obviously embarrassed by his friend and king’s behavior. 

 

When she turned back to her mother and the Queen she saw the pinched look on Cersei’s face, the way her fingers gripped her gown as she watched her husband behave like a drunken tavern keeper. Cately stood up from her seat and extended a hand to the blonde woman.

 

“Please, Queen Cersei, allow me the honor of hosting you in my own rooms. I have a fine selection of teas and I can send a maid to fetch us something sweet while we sit in peace. You have had such a long trip here.” She smiled, keeping an eye on the King, who was now bouncing the serving girl on his lap while he shouted for more drink.

 

The Queen seemed to snap out of her anger. “Of course, Lady Stark, how kind. We can continue our talks somewhere quieter.”

 

Sansa watched the women head off in the direction of her mother’s solar, a number of maids following behind. She waited a few moments and then set off down another hall entirely. She knew the castle well enough to know the best place to sneak and listen, and there were other ways to listen outside her mother’s door.

 

She made it down a few narrow halls meant for servants and stopped to listen. She could hear the Queens little amy of handmaidens just up ahead. She would have to go around another hall. 

 

“There you are my lady.” 

 

The voice from the dark, soft and slightly slurred, made Sansa jump. She spun around, heart beating fast, to see Joffrey standing in the shadows, leaning against a wall. Even from a few feet away he smelled like wine.

 

“My Prince! You must be lost, the feast is back the other way.” Sansa forced a small smile and stepped forward. “Please allow me to-”

 

Joffrey snickered. “Oh I will allow quite a lot, Lady Sansa.” He reached out and caught her by the arm, pulling her in close enough she could see how unfocused his eyes were. “You left me back there at the feast. But now, we can be alone together.”

 

Sansa froze as his hands moved, stroking her arms, and reaching around to pull her even closer. The Prince was not taller than her, but in that moment she roze, unable or unwilling to just push him away. She started as she felt his hands move across her back, his fingers plucking at the ribbons on the back of her gown.

 

“My Prince, we should get back. Our parents are at the feast, we will be missed.” She tried to pull away gently. She had seen Theon like this before, cornering the maids after too much wine. 

 

But Joffrey didn’t allow himself to be rebuffed, and instead moved in even closer. Sansa felt the laces on her dress come undone, and the sleeves began to slide down her shoulders as he crowded her against the wall. “Ah, but my Lady, you are mistaken. Your lady mother has taken mine away for the evening. And your father is watching mine toy with some trollop right at the table, where everyone can see.” He laughed cruelly and leaned forward as if to kiss her.

 

Before his wormy lips could touch her own, Sansa heard a voice coming from down the hall. 

 

“-Joffrey! Prince! Your father, King Robert, calls for you!” Sansa recognized the voice, as it seemed did Joffrey. The Prince pulled away from her, dropping something to the floor with a clatter, and cursed. 

 

“Later, my lady.” He smirked at her before darting off down the hall, away from the approacing voice and foot steps.

 

Sansa let herself fall against the wall, breath coming fast. A moment later and The Hound stood in front of her, his eyes going right to her bare shoulder.

 

“J-Joffery went that way.” Sansa waved her hand down the hall and began to try and right her dress with shaking hands. But the laces slipped between fingers and she couldn’t bear find a maid to help in such a state. She would have gone ot her mother if she wasn’t with the Queen.

 

The Hound grunted in reply and grabbed her gently by the shoulder, turning her around. She allowed it, glad at least hide her reddening face. His hands, huge and rough, carefully pulled her dress into place, smoothing it out over her underthings.

 

Sandor took the ribbons, and with surprisingly nimble fingers, did up the knots again. When he was finished she thought she could feel him brush her hair aside, ever so gently. 

 

“Now, run along little bird, before someone else find you all alone.” He turned her back and watched as she nodded and hurried off down the hall back towards the feast. He watched her go, and then looked own at his feet. He had heard Joffrey drop something. He picked it up in one massive hand and held it up towards a torch for a better look. A knife, the ind used to carve meat, taken from the table. He swallowed dryly and tucked it away in his pocket.  

 

Joffrey was gone, mostly likely back to his family’s retinue, so he took the opportunity to head outside, taking the servant passages out to the yard. It was cold out, biterly so, and he could see his breath freezing in the air. But it was quieter outside, and blessedly free of blonde princes and pretty red haired girls.

 

“Ah Hound, come to have dinner with the dogs?”

 

Sandor turned to see Tyrion, coming up the path to the castle. The Imp had stayed behind at a whore house, letting his family ride ahead to the Stark’s home.

 

“You missed the feast my lord.” He stared out into the night. This far North the sky was bright and clear, and above Winterfell the sky was filled with stars, more than he had ever seen even at Casterly Rock. 

 

Tyrion laughed. “I was at a nice little brothel in town. I assure you, I ate quite well.”

 

Sandor gave a little snort. “Well, I would say your family is waiting on your arrival lord Tyrion, but I fear they may have moved on to...other amusements.”

 

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Already? I suppose the stress of travel does not bring out the best in my family.”

 

The hound shook his head. It certainly did not. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tyrion watched as Catelyn Stark struggled to smile as she bade farewell to her children. The woman was the very picture of grace under pressure, her head held high, her hair neat and dress clean despite the fact she had hardly left Brann’s side since his fall. Deep down, even Tyrion himself had doubts about the boy’s accident. Trouble had a way of following the Lannister family wherever it went. 

 

It didn’t escape him how his brother and sister’s sad looks of condolence to the Lady Stark didn’t quite reach their eyes, or even how his oldest nephew seemed entirely unphased, more concerned with whether or not the pretty Stark sister would be joining them on the road home. He was looking forward to traveling with the caravan going back South. He had ridden North ahead of his family in order to visit the Wall first. It had been beautiful and terrifying and unlike any other part of Westeros he had ever seen. Now he was excited for sunshine and feather beds but not for the company of his family.

 

He turned his attention away from Lady Catelyn and focused on his own affairs. Bronn, the man he had hired to escort him North, was ordering a stable boy to load his cargo in it’s own carriage.

 

“He ain’t riding with the bleeding King and Queen, so keep it seperate!” bronn growled, dark eyes narrowing.

 

“S-sorry sir, I was just trying to pack the cases more efficiently and-” The boy flinched as Bronn took a step towards him and quickly began rearranging the trunks.

 

“Good man, Bronn,” Tyrion nodded. He climbed the little wooden stairs set out by the servants and mounted his horse. From his perch he could see as well as any man, could see the sad look on Ned Stark’s face as he bid his family farewell.

 

He set out at a trot, intending to follow behind the Stark family and their house guard. The Stark girls, Sansa and Arya, rode alongside their father, unlike his niece and nephews who were happy to ride inside the royal carriage and eat honey cakes. His horse nearly threw him when a wolf- no, a direwolf, ran past it, pursued by it’s litter mate.  

 

“Whoa!” He tipped forward and grabbed his horse about the neck until it settled. Ahead of him, he was sure he heard the sound of one of the girls laughing at him. 

 

He rode for the better part of a day behind them. It was peaceful. It was far enough North the King’s road was quiet, they road for hours without seeing any other travellers. He appreciated the calm though, it gave him time to think.

 

He had spoken to Aemon Targaryen at the wall. The man was the last of his family in Westeros. His silver hair had turned true white with age and the purple of his eyes was hidden by cataracts. but he was the last of the dragons this side of the narrow sea. But not the last of the dragons.

 

“I have heard word of a niece and nephew, somewhere overseas. Essos, I think, maybe Lys? A rumor, I heard from a friend.” Tyrion had watched the maester’s face, saw the lack of surprise. Varys had been right, or his little birds had been at least. 

 

“I am a maester and a sworn brother. I have no family or name any longer, as you well know Lord Tyrion. My allegiance is simply to Castle Black.” The old man had smiled serenely and gone back to his work, clearly not concerned about princes or kings or silver haired children hundreds of miles away.

 

But those children troubled Tyrion. There had always been rumors of lost Targaryens, the mystery and mystique was too much. Every other year some fool put themselves forward as a lost prince or princess or long lost cousin. One had famously gone blind after putting drops in their eyes to tint them purple, not knowing the pretty flowers used for the dye were poisonous. 

 

But real Targaryens, that was something to worry about. Something to see. He put the idea aside. He would be back in Kings Landing soon enough, he could take time to petition his father for leave to go abroad. Doubtless, Tywin Lannister would be glad to be rid of him. Tyrion dozed in saddle, his mind filled with thoughts of glittering ocean waves and exotic shores.

 

At midday the entourage stopped for a picnic lunch. It was a simple meal but not a simple affair, dozens of people and horses being tended to all at once. But Tyrion was glad of the madness. He was small enough to move around mostly unnoticed. He watched as King Robert heaved his massive bulk from the wheelhouse and lumbered off eat with his friend, two kingsguard at his side. He had brought a horse from the capitol, but it was being towed behind the carriages.

 

Tyrion didn’t join his sister for lunch, instead tracking down his brother. Jaime was, as usual, surrounded by adoring faces. The blonde man might have been the Kingslayer, but he was also rich and handsome and one of the most well known swordsmen in Westeros. He was cursed to always having a smiling person tailing behind him, desperate to seem friendly or useful.

 

“Tyrion, come to join us?” Jaime raised a bit of roast chicken in mock salute. “I thought you were in one of the carriages in back.”

 

Tyrion shook his head and helped himself to a wineskin before settling down next to his brother. “No, actually I’ve been riding behind the Stark family. Interesting folks these Northerners.” They had been actually. The girls could rie well, and the wolves were more well behaved than some fo the lap dogs ladies in the capital liked to keep. They seemed a decent sort, which made him oddly sad. Decent sorts didn’t tend to do well in Kings Landing.

 

Ser Barristan Selmy, the oldest of the Kingsguard by many years, settled  next to Jaime with a gentle grunt. “Ned Stark is a good man, and while I do not know Lady Stark much, I am well acquainted with her father Hoster Tully.”

 

Tyrion toyed with the wineskin in his hands. “Family, Duty, Honor. Good words for a family.” 

 

Barristan nodded and took up a piece of bread and hard cheese for himself. “yes and lord Tully lived by them. I have no doubt his daughter is a fine Lady. I hope her son will be well after  his fall. terrible thing to happen to a child.”

 

Tyrion’s eyes locked on Jaime’s face and as his brother schooled himself into an expression of sadness. “Yes. poor lad had said he wanted to be a knight one day, maybe even a kingsguard himself. Unlikely now I suppose.”  

 

And then Tyrion saw it. the face he had seen a million times as a child. When Jaime had stolen a horse to go riding instead of attend lessons. When he had charmed a pretty kitchen maid into bringing him honey cakes before supper. The face he had made every time he and Cersei were caught by their father doing something naughty. not quite guilt, but a flash of darkness in his green eyes. Jaime knew what had happened to Brandon Stark. 

 

He finished his meal in relative silence, just watching his brother. He knew Jaime was far from the golden child that many saw him as. Even their father didn’t really understand the kind of person Jaime was, at least not the kind of person he was around Cersei. When it was time to start riding again he mounted his horse and fell back into his spot behind the Stark family. As they rode off he saw each member of their house turn back and look North, a sadness on their face he had never felt at leaving Casterly Rock behind.

 

The riding went on like that for days. When possibly the company stayed at Inns or the homes of lesser local lords. it didn’t escape Tyrion’s notice most seemed more pleased to house Ned Stark in their halls than the King himself. But Ned was a gracious guest. he made sure to pay the lords for the food they ate and thank each one personally for the hospitality. The Stark family also availed themselves of every Godswood they came across, praying for Brann’s health no doubt. 

 

Watching them made Tyrion more and more aware of his own family’s own shortcomings in comparison. His sister made a show of piety when needed, going to the great sept for high holidays and lighting candles for the Mother. But he knew she was no true believer. He and his brother and father didn’t even bother with the pretense. They tithed to the church to stay in good standing and that was it. On the last high holiday he knew for a fact King Robert had broken his fast with nothing more than whores and wine. Meanwhile Sansa Stark was the picture of a pious girl on Maiden’s Day with her long loose hair and simple dresses. 

 

Although Sansa Stark’s maidenhead was something to be concerned about. He, and likely most of the camp, had seen how Joffrey followed the girl about, chasing her skirts like a dog after a bone. With any other lad he would have dismissed it as a childhood crush, harmless and even charming. but with joffrey, tyrion kept his eyes open. Ned kept his daughters close when he could, and guarded by men rom his own house when he couldn’t. But the camp was large and noisy and it was all too easy to slip away for a moment of private and clandestine behavior. He had seen his siblings do it and they had to contend with the rest of the kingsguard and Cersei’s army of little handmaidens. 

 

The girl seemed content to stay with her family and her wolf, but more and more Joffrey would demand his mother invite Sansa to dine with the royal family. His sister would smile her fake smile and ply the girl with wine and sweets, clearly hoping to buy the girls affections for her boy. It was just after one such meal that the trouble truly started. 

 

The company had settled by the Trident, happy for warmer weather as they moved ever Southward. The camp was like a sea of tents along the riverside, and he many children had taken to splashing in the shallow waters, shouting and laughing. Most of them were the children of servants or lesser families, but Tyrion saw Arya Stark in a pair of borrowed breeches, running toward the water with her wolf in tow, screaming as a herd of younger children gave chase. it was the first time in a long time he had seen the girl so happy, finally distracted by the removal from her home and the injuries of her brother. He settled into his chair and sipped his wine as he half listened to renly Baratheon and King Robert argue beside him. 

 

“You should make a match for Myrcella soon,” Renly grumbled, tugging at a lock of dark hair. Sitting there in a simple tunic and breeches he looked every bit the younger version of his brother, who only looked more red faced and fat beside him. “If the rumors about the Targaryens are true, we might have need of more allies yet.”

 

Robert grumbled and took up a fresh wineskin. “Yes and cersei would cut off my balls in my sleep. It’s enough I promised Joffrey to the prettiest girl in Highgarden, it’s like the woman expects her children to stay hidden in her skirts till they are old and grey!” 

 

Renly looked out at the river and raised a dark eyebrow. “Well it seems Joff takes after in one respect brother,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice.

 

“Oh?” Robert looked up from the platter of salted meats he had been picking at. “And hows that now?”

 

Renly nodded towards the water. “He has a taste for Nothern girls.” 

 

Tyrion followed the man’s gaze and saw Sansa standing at the edge of the water like a painting of a river nymph. Her red hair was loose and blowing in the breeze, and he had tied her skirts above her knee and left her stocking on the bank so she could wade out into the clear waters. After a few days of riding in the sun her cheeks were stained pink from the sun and dotted with freckles here and there, and a sweet smile spread across her face as she watched her own wolf give half hearted chase to the ducks swimming among the reeds. 

 

Then a flash of gold caught Tyrion’s eyes, dragging his attention away from the lovely sight. On the other side of those reeds, Joffrey stood, staring in rapt attention. The little golden circlet he sometimes wore on his blond hair catching the light as he looked at the girl. but the look wasn’t one of love or even simple lust. his features were twisted into something ugly, and Tyrion saw he was pulling at the delicate velvet of his tunic, twisting the fabric in his fists. Behind him stood the Hound, changed into light leather armor, but still wearing his sword. He had never been a handsome man, and probably wouldn’t have been even without the scars judging by his brother. But just then, his face was different than anything Tyrion had seen before. It was the face men often had when they saw his own sister. But he was looking at Sansa Stark. 


End file.
